


Until Yesterday

by agentsimmons



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Comic Book Violence, Gun Violence, Lust at First Sight, M/M, POV Bruce Banner, POV First Person, Purple Shirt of Sex, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Strangers to Lovers, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentsimmons/pseuds/agentsimmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been said that a single day can change a person's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the sciencebrosweek prompt: Yesterday. It's completely unedited at this point since I'm quickly posting on a break. I will try to edit it later. If you see anything glaring, please feel free to nicely point it out. Thanks!

"It's been said that a single day can change a person's life." I furrowed my brow at Tony's unexpected statement. His voice sounded a little distant. "A day unlike any other comes, and whether it's for better or worse, things are never the same again." 

"That's nice," I said when he didn't continue. "That's a nice sentiment. You know, assuming you want your whole life turned upside down and thrown out of balance with no guarantee it'll be for the better." 

"I think today might be that day," Tony said after another moment of silence, long enough that I wasn't sure he was going to say anything else on the topic at all.  

"Tony," I said dubiously, "we're being held in an abandoned warehouse by terrorists. I think it's safe to say it's that day." 

"That's not what I meant," Tony replied. "Today I met you." 

* * *

  _3 Hours Earlier_  

I rushed out of my barely affordable apartment building, running late since in all truth I’d almost decided not to go to my three o’clock Stark Industries interview at all. I mean, when you’ve been all but blacklisted from the scientific community and turned down point blank three job interviews in a row, you kind of feel like not trying again. But I’d gotten a call from my friend Natasha and very colorfully told not to screw this up; some of it was in Russian which unfortunately I speak. You see, Natasha is a personal assistant for the CEO of Stark Industries: Tony Stark. That’s how she found out I’d be interviewing for Tony Stark himself. As terrifying as that prospect is even I know not to cancel on a man like Stark. And having even a few minutes with the genius is more than most can say… unless you take other routes, I guess. So, of course, when you’re running late and it’s for something important everything that can go wrong probably will. Or it will if you have my luck.  

“No, Pep, I am not trying to ditch this meeting. Honestly. Why would I do that? We've been working on this for how long now? The car broke down. I swear. I’ll put Happy on the phone if you don’t believe me.” A businessman was talking loudly into his phone as I passed him. Poor guy wasn’t lying to whoever was on the other end, but I didn't have time to stop and help. Which is probably why the guy decided I looked like a good Samaritan and flagged me down. "Hey, buddy," he called. "You got a minute?" I sighed, but turned to look at him.  

"Not—"I stopped short and blinked a few times. "...really." Suddenly my phone rang. I held up a finger while he just shrugged and went back to his own phone call.  

"No, Pepper, I do not know how to work on _all_ cars. Classic cars and modern cars are two very different things."  

He kind of had a point even if the basics were still the same, I thought with a shake of my head as I answered my own call. I didn't even have to look at that caller id to know who it would be. 

"Hello, Tasha."  

"Bruce, where _are_ you?" 

"Not sure that's an easy question to answer. Or if you even want one." 

"Someone nagging you too?" the other guy asked me and I realized his call had ended and he was just hanging around eavesdropping. Figured as much. I nodded. 

"What?" I tuned back in on Natasha's rant in order to interrupt. "I am _not_ self-sabotaging."  

"You are." 

"Self-loathing maybe... Look, I'm on my way. Promise. I just ran into a little—" I glanced at the man bouncing a little on his heels and stifled a sigh. "Okay, a big hiccup. I'll keep you posted." I ended the call and looked at the man in question. 

"Girlfriend? Wife?"  

"Excuse me?"  

"Sounded like a significant other." He shrugged. 

"I could be gay," I said, not really sure why I felt like being obstinate.  

"Well, you know," he gave another shrug and smirk, "some people are still offended if you lead with that assumption. But, hey, here's hoping you are." 

"I—" That wasn't the retort I'd been expecting. I'm not sure what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. "Yeah, well, hate to disappoint you, but I don't think I've had a preference in years." 

"So like me?" he queried. “Still works—" I snorted unattractively.  

"Yeah, no. I'm the opposite of you. As in I gave up relationships years ago because it never ends well. I turn off the emotions necessary to have a preference." 

"Wait," he blinked, "you learned how to turn off emotions? Without alcohol?" He looked at me like I held the meaning of the universe. I… wasn't sure what to think. 

"Decidedly without alcohol," I said with a frown. "Never touch it. Besides, alcohol just intensifies emotions for better or worse. You're a genius. You should know how chemicals work…and why are we discussing this?" 

"Well, me? I was just enjoying listening to you talk. Alright, so you know who I am," he said then without segue way. He gestured to another man who until this point had been fiddling under the hood of the car, cussing every now and then. “Happy here, my driver—"  

"And bodyguard," the other said. 

"Not a very good one. I've been standing here talking to a stranger. He could have mugged me." 

"I would have known. And he has a good face." 

"Agreed. So, anyways, he's basically useless when it comes to cars. I'm basically useless when it comes to modern motors. Do you know anything at all?"  

"You designed weapons until six months ago," I said incredulously as I moved over to take a look just the same. "Here hold this." I held out my messenger briefcase, that had my jacket folded over it, and he looked at it for a long moment. So long I wondered if he was going to take it, but then he did. "Thank you. But really, how do you not know modern motors?" 

"Are modern motors supposed to go boom?" he asked belatedly to my point about his having made weapons.  

"Ah, nope. No," I answered, shaking my head as I inspected the engine, only knowing the little I did from my years of odd jobs as a sort of Joe Fix-it.  

"Fly?"  

"Could you imagine the difficulty of establishing designated flight patterns if we had flying cars?" I mused. 

"Finally somebody who gets me," he replied enthusiastically. It must have been contagious because I gave a small chortle. "If it doesn’t go boom, fly, look like a robot, involve binary, or have an engine from before 1980, I pretty much don’t waste my time on it." 

"So what you're saying is it would take you probably all of ten minutes to figure it out if you tried?" 

"You're not gonna win with logic there, pal," Happy told me. 

"Okay…" I focused my attention on the car. Admittedly modern engines _were_ a pain to work with thanks to compressed sizes among other things. Then something spotted my eye. "Huh. I think this car does go boom. Or did." It was a hassle, but I finally managed to pull out a small detonator that had been lodged in between two cylinders. I stood up, inspecting it. It was swiped from my hand. 

"That's my tech!" I furrowed my brow as he looked at it. "What the hell?" 

"So somebody had to put it there," I reasoned. "But why?" 

"Uh, kind of wondering the same thing. It's not big enough to blow up an entire car." 

"But it is big enough to kill the engine," I stated the obvious. Suddenly Happy was hovering and looking displeased.  

"I told you. Didn't I tell you? I knew something sketchy was going down. I could feel it. Like a premonition."  

"You don't have premonitions." 

"I do." 

The two men were going back and forth on the matter, and I found myself siding with Happy. Maybe he didn't have premonitions, but it was clear that detonator was foul play. I rolled my eyes when a severely ridiculous point was made and that's when I caught sight of something moving atop my building's roof. I squinted to get a better look only to see someone dressed in black and— 

"We need to run," I said as calmly as possible, even as my heart began to pump faster. 

"What?" they both asked at the same time.  

"Run, Stark!" I then panicked when I saw the gun. Not thinking, I grabbed his arm and pulled him down the street just in time as the bullet was heard missing its mark against the tire of the car.  

"Oh shit!" 

"Keep running," Happy called after us and I glanced over my shoulder to see him take off in the opposite direction. Honestly, I had no intentions of stopping any time soon.  

"Subway," I told him. It was the best way I could think of off the top of my head to shake the shooter. I'd learned that it was always a good idea to use a crowd to get lost in.  

"I really hate public transportation," he grumbled, but followed me nonetheless.  

We ran as fast as we could until we finally reached the nearest station and were able to push into one of the cars. It was an emptier car, thank goodness and I managed to drag him towards an empty corner where we could hopefully huddle inconspicuously.  

"Not to jump to any conclusions," I mumbled once we'd caught our breaths, "but I think somebody wants you dead, Stark." 

"I'm sure a lot of people do," he said. "Just never thought anyone would actually try it. And it's Tony. We just managed to escape a shooter. I'm Tony."  

"Oh." I blinked. "Okay. I'm… Bruce," I said. 

He nodded and said, "Thanks for saving my ass back there, Bruce. Now what?" 

"Uh, you call somebody," I said, looking at him like it was obvious. "The police might be helpful," I offered sarcastically. "I—" My own phone rang and I pulled it out and looked at it. "It's my friend from earlier," I told him and picked it up. "Natasha—" 

"Your interview is going to happen, Bruce," she said in a sincerely worried tone.  

"Tash—"  

"I shouldn't be telling you thins, but Mr. Stark's bodyguard called and said somebody tried to kill Stark. He ran off with some unlucky bystander." I sighed and looked at Tony to see him furiously texting.  

"Tasha—" 

"As you can imagine it's a madhouse here and there are police combing the city for—" 

"Tasha, I really can't do this right now," I finally managed to break in. "I'm… I'm with Tony Stark right now." I gave him an apologetic look even he didn't realize it wasn't necessary seeing as Natasha already knew him. 

"You… What? Don't tell me _you're_ the unlucky bystander."  

"Remember when I said earlier you didn't want an answer to the question of where I was?" I paused. "His car broke down outside of my apartment building." She began a colorful rant in Russian. "Are you done yet?" 

"Are you both okay?" she asked, in answer to my question. 

"Uh, yeah, we are. We're on the subway heading for Park. Tell the police." 

"Happy said you saved him," she said evenly.  

"Now's probably not the time to get into the specifics. It's been a weird afternoon and, honestly, I'd like to make it to tomorrow afternoon and I'm sure Tony would too—" 

" _Tony_?"  

"Tasha, just call the police," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Tell them—" 

The transit came to a screeching stop and the lights flickered out. My phone went dead and a quick look around told me that everyone else's electronics had died as well.  

"EMP, _damn_ it," Tony said with a knowing growl. "They found us somehow." He suddenly furrowed his brow in suspicion. "You just told your friend our location." 

"I— I… N-no, I…" I squeaked and stuttered. "It's a coincidence. I wouldn't… I'd never—" 

"How do I know you and your friend aren't working together with the shooter? Why did I break down outside your apartment building? Why did you stop to help me?" His voice became a little manic. "Maybe this was all a set up to get me on the subway."  

"You need to calm down, Tony," I said as steadily as I could against the throb in my ears. I understood why he'd be suspicious. It looked bad and someone was trying to kill him so the anxiety attack made sense. "Just breathe," I instructed, "and look at me." He calmed enough to meet my gaze and I saw the moment he came back to reality. He exhaled sharply. "I'm not trying to kill you. And _you_ stopped _me_ , remember? I didn't even want to help you. I was in a hurry to…" _Well, to see you_ , I thought. "…be somewhere." 

"You're right," he said with a nod. "You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't think… I just... You're not the enemy."  

"I'm not. Right now I might be the only friend you have." 

Suddenly there was a sound of a gunshot over the intercom and I flinched as many other in the car began to become hysterical. Then there was another and I flinched again, and felt Tony flinch beneath my iron grip on his jacket – which was when I realized I had an iron grip on his jacket and his arms were around me in a protective embrace. I met his eyes for half a second, wondering if I should feel embarrassed by my reaction, when a foreign tongue came over the intercom.  

"What is he saying?" asked someone with a trembling voice as I finally stepped back from Tony's hold again. 

"He says," a man near us answered in an accented English, "we are here for Tony Stark. If you try to stop us, you will meet his fate."  

There were gasps and more hysterics. I met Tony's gaze again, panicked, and saw the fear in his eyes. But behind that fear was something else. Our heads turned in sync when there were loud shouts of terror far enough away that it sounded like they were coming from several cars down. 

I looked at Tony and then around to see a few people looking at us, having recognized the infamous billionaire no doubt. I could see that they were worried about what might come next, maybe already waiting to shout, "There he is!" I felt my heart rate spike. My fight or flight response was bound to kick in once that terrorist came through the door. Only there was nowhere to run and confrontation might make it worse.  

"I have to give myself up," Tony said and I looked at him with a sharp turn of my head. 

"No," I said immediately. The word was practically ripped from my lungs in protest. If he gave himself up, he'd be killed and… he didn't deserve that.  

"Maybe I have this coming to me," he said soberly. "I've been called a Merchant of Death. My weapons killed thousands. And when people started saying I was in bed with terrorists, I… I couldn't do it anymore. I don't know why they said those things… I would never... I don't know how they got my weapons, if they even did. But if it's true I still feel responsible." 

"I know," I said with a nod. "I've read all about it." He looked at me like that was somehow a surprise. Like somebody actually cared enough to read about him, or maybe read about more than just what crazy deed or rumor had landed him on the cover of Star again. "That doesn't mean you deserve this, Tony," I said firmly, but I felt the weight of irony in my words. I'd heard them time and time again from the few friends I'd had over the years. 

"Listen to him, Mr. Stark," the man who had translated interrupted. We, and a few others, looked at him. "Your death will not atone for what happened, but your life will." I furrowed my brow and glanced sideways at Tony to see his reaction. It mirrored my own. "You are trying to fix what you have done, but if you die then who will be brave enough to take your place?"  

Something about what he said struck me. These terrorists were after Tony because he'd slowly been changing the face of Stark Industries. He's shutdown the production of weapons. He'd been remodeling Stark Tower. There were rumors of his changing the power structure. Natasha had mentioned she'd gotten the job of Tony's assistant because his previous assistant, Pepper, had gotten a sudden promotion in the company shortly after the weapons shutdown.  

So what if the rumors about Stark Industries being in bed with terrorists wasn't entirely unfounded? What if they were mad that they'd lost their main weapons supplier? But the question was how were they getting the weapons from in the first place? Who was putting them on the black market, if that was the case, for them to obtain? Or who was dealing them directly? 

"There's nowhere for me to go," Tony said, pulling me from my thoughts. "If I try to run they might hurt innocent people." 

"Take it from someone who knows," the translator said. "They always do." I saw the pain of someone who'd lost somebody they cared about deeply flicker in the man's eyes." 

"Maybe if we go now we can make it to the end of the subway and out before they reach us here," I suggested to Tony. He looked torn. "Please, let's… just go." Then I reconsidered. "Or you just go. I'll stay. That way I can distract them and you can—" 

"Fuck no," Tony's uncertainty suddenly was vehemence and I faltered back a little. "I'm not leaving you to play decoy for me, Bruce." A chill ran down my spine that I didn't have time to analyze.   

"It is a terrible thing to be separated from those you love," the translator said and my eyes widened at the impression he'd gotten. Suddenly there were more screams and entreaties of, "He isn't here!" in the car behind us. "You both must go. I am glad to do what I can to slow them down." 

"We can't ask you to do that," Tony said.  

"You are not asking. I am volunteering because I want to. This is what I want, now go."  

Tony and I shared an equally tentative look, but there wasn't any more time to hesitate. Tony grabbed my hand and pulled me along before I could process the action let alone protest. I held on tightly to it as he wove through one crowded car to the next so as not to get separated from him. I briefly wondered how I'd ended up in this mess with him to begin with, but I was a little glad I'd stopped to help him if it meant Tony was still alive. I don't if it was my aversion to anyone dying a violent death, violence in general, or some weird attachment I'd formed to the eccentric billionaire genius the minute the cheeky bastard had said, 'Here's hoping you are.' I only knew somewhere along the way I'd made some out-of-character vow to see this through until the end of the line.  

Which, unfortunately, was when we reached the last car. All of the people were huddled in terror and at the end of the car were two terrorists robed in black, with masks.  

"Did you think we wouldn't take precautions and block the exits?" one of them, a man, questioned in English.  

"If you want to kill me, then kill me," Tony said, and I felt my adrenaline spike dangerously. I couldn't afford to black out right here and now. Especially if it was coupled with one of my rare fits of enraged hysteria which seemed more and more possible at this point. Who knew what might happen. 

"We're not going to kill you, Stark. You're going to come with us." He pointed with his gun to the other terrorist. That terrorist yanked a small child from his mother as she began to plead for them to take her instead. "You will come with us and create your Jericho missile or else we kill everyone here one by one until you agree. Starting with him." 

"No," I gasped, crushing Tony's hand with my own. "No!" I growled then, fight taking precedence over fight this time, and lunged toward the terrorist holding the boy in a violent grip. "Let him go! He's just a boy," I yelled, or I believe I did. I'm not one hundred percent certain because the few times this has happened and not been accompanied by a blackout everything is in slow motion and my voice is foreign to my ears and the words don't always process the way they usually do. It's like my genius intellect is stripped down to the barest bones and all I'm left with is raw Neanderthalian instinct to survive and protect.  

"No, don't!" Tony yelled, breaking me from my trance. I was lying on the floor of the car with a gun aimed toward my head. I glanced to see the mother had her son in protective hold. I then glanced at Tony to see he looked more afraid than I'd yet seen him. "Don't kill him! Don't kill anyone. I'll come with you." The man who spoke English looked down at me with a considering expression then suddenly his heavy boot was lobbed harshly in my side. I winced and coughed. "No! Stop!" Tony pleaded. "The cops are looking for me so you don’t have much time," he tried. "Take me now and leave them."  

"Tony," I tried only to be kicked again.  

"Grab him," the English-speaking terrorist said and I was pulled up violently. Then another terrorist came into the car behind Tony and before he could react he was seized as well. "I'm glad you see it our way, Stark." 

"Why do you have _him_?" Tony asked and looked from the terrorist to me and then back again. I said you could take _me_ now. Leave him out of this." 

"You're a smart businessman, Stark. From one business man to another, let's call it your incentives package." 

* * *

"Uh…" I blinked, unsure of how to process Tony's statement. "Not that I'm not… flattered, but I really don't think that meeting me could be considered the life changing portion of this day."  

Hell, I was probably only alive because I'd proven I was a genius when they'd pulled me into another room to rough me up enough to scare Tony into believing they meant business. I'd told them I could help Tony build that missile they wanted. 

"Oh, Bruce," he said with a snort. "Even our terrorist friends seem to realize how much you mean to me." 

"What are you talking about?" I practically hissed over my shoulder, since they had us in the cliché back-to-back position with our hands bound painfully together between the chairs. "You don't even know anything about me," I protested. This couldn't be happening. And emotions that should be off had no business of trying to turn themselves on at his words.  

"Not true," he countered. "I know you don't drink. I know you like to tiptoe. I have a pretty good idea your father was a raging alcoholic. I know you have breathtaking anger management issues in certain circumstances. I know…. I know somebody hurt you," he said a little more softly, and that probably wasn't a hard one to have guessed. "And I know I want to find out all of the reasons and all the things in between. I've also been wanting to fuck you since I laid eyes on you in that purple shirt, but try not to hold that against me. Pepper says it's a disease. The urge was especially strong on the subway when I thought I'd never get another chance. And, confession time, of course I know how work on a modern engine. I was just having some fun watching Happy try and fail. But then you walked by and it was pretty much lust at first sight so I needed a reason to stop you. But now you're stuck here with me so I wish I hadn't. It's more than just lust now and I wish you were somewhere safe," he rambled on and on as I made several strangled noises at the unexpected things he was saying. "By the way, before I lose my tangent, purple is a bold color choice for an interview at a Fortune 500 company." 

"How—" I sputtered. My brain was stuttering as it tried to process everything Tony had said, but especially that last part. "What makes you think I was going to an interview at a Fortune 500 company?" 

"Seriously, Dr. Banner?" Tony's tone was incredulous. "I've known since a few minutes after I met you who you were. Made my boner even bigger when I realized not only were you some randomly gorgeous stranger, you're a genius who wants to work for my company." 

"I… don't know what to say. To _any_ of that," I added for good measure. 

"Natasha has a bunch of pictures of friends in her office. Did you know that? It's seriously atonal with the rest of her personality." 

"She does?" I blinked, trying to imagine it. "I have to admit that might be one of the weirder things you've said today." He snorted. "So you knew it was me? This whole time?" 

"Hell of an interview, huh?" he asked in a teasing tone. "For the record I gave you the job after you went berserker on that terrorist to save that kid." 

"It was a trigger," I mumbled.  

"Figured as much," he said softly. 

"But, seriously," I tried to return to the strangely lighter conversation prior since I knew we both needed it given our circumstances, " _that's_ when you gave me the job?" 

"Well, to be fair," he said, "amidst not dying I was busy contemplating whether or not it was appropriate to proposition you before offering you the position or after. I decided after you saved that kid to hell with appropriateness and propositions, I'd give you the job and then ask you to dinner instead." 

"So I was upgraded to a dinner date, huh?" I asked, not believing him, and not believing how stupid I was being for liking the sound of that. It had to be all of the charged emotions in general and our shared little adventure, I told myself.  

"Honey," he said in a flippant tone that somehow managed to be laced with sincerity, "you were upgraded all the way to 'dinner and if the conversation and sex is good immediate proposal.'" 

"Well, the conversation might be touch and go," I bantered, and wondered how in the hell this was happening to me because it felt good – better than I remembered. "But, really? Good sex is a criterion?" 

"I'm shallow, so yeah, it's preferred, but you just used criterion appropriately, so I might be able to lower my expectations a little." 

"Oh god," I chuckled in spite of everything, "you've crossed the genius-insanity line haven't you?" I sighed then. "Maybe we should get out of here alive before we pick out curtains, Tony." 

“Whatever you boys do, avoid chartreuse.” 

I whipped my head sideways to see Natasha… not looking anything at all like I was expecting. She was dressed head to toe in some kind of special ops outfit.  

“Tasha?” 

“Found them,” she said into a commlink. She came toward them. “Looks like they’ve sustained some minor injuries. Have medical ready.” 

“What the hell?” Tony echoed my confusion. 

“Natasha Romanov,” she said as she began loosening their binds, “FBI.” 

“FBI?” I pulled free and rubbed at my wrists. “Since when?” 

“Since long before we met, Doctor. In fact, we only met because of it. I was investigating any potential truth to General Ross’ insistence that you were a dangerous terrorist. Good news, Doc. You’re not. After that, I was immediately assigned to investigate suspicious terrorist activity emanating from Stark Industries in spite of Stark’s reform.” She shrugged. “Seemed a shame to stop being friends after my job was done.” 

“You only befriended me to investigate me?” I didn't know how to feel. I was glad the FBI realized General Ross was wrong about me, but at the same time I felt more than a little betrayed. I'd trusted her, begun to really consider her a good friend – which was still sometimes hard for me.  

“What do you _mean_ terrorist activity emanating _from_ Stark Industries?” Tony asked as we followed her. 

“We have evidence of terrorist attacks utilizing your weapons as recent as last week, Stark," Natasha said and my thoughts about betrayal were immediately replaced with my earlier hypothesis. 

"That's impossible," Tony bristled. "I gave explicit instructions for all remaining weapons to be destroyed effective immediately and you know as my assistant I've been trying to hunt down the ones left on the black market." 

"I know, Stark," she said. "And all the evidence points to it not being you." 

"Well, gee, what a relief," Tony snapped. "Then what the hell is going on?" 

"It's somebody else," I said immediately. "You need to look at who you entrusted to destroy those weapons to narrow your suspects and—" Suddenly something else occurred to me. "Wait, Tony did _you_ tell anyone we were on the subway?" 

"Just Pepper, but there's no way it could be—" He paused. "Shit. And she said she would tell Stane. And Stane was in charge of—" He breathed in and out. "…of…"  

"Breathe, Tony," I urged. 

"How could it be _him_?" He looked genuinely pained. I didn't know much about Stark Industries beyond what I'd read, but Obadiah Stane had been his father's right hand man for years so it was reasonable to think this was a very personal betrayal.  

"Agent Coulson, Agent Romanov," Natasha said into her comm. "I think we'll need a search warrant for Stane. Right." She looked at them. "In light of the terrorist attack, we'll be getting a warrant to search all of your employees' computers." 

"Do it," Tony said. "I want to know if it was him and he and anyone else are going to pay." She nodded and turned. "Wait," Tony stopped her. "There was a guy on the train." 

"They shot him." I felt Tony flinch beside me. "He was rushed to the hospital. No word yet on if it'll be fatal. Sorry, Stark." Her lips turned into a thin line. Tony nodded slowly. "Now go see the medics," she instructed us both. Then she looked at me something between apologetic and concerned before walking off confidently towards her fellow agents.  

"Yeah, you can see the medics. I'm good," Tony said almost the moment she was gone and looked at me. "I'd much rather eat something."  

"You need to see the medic too." I looked at him seriously.  

"You seem concerned," he managed to construe my meaning for his liking… I told myself, but truthfully I was concerned. "You feel it too don't you?" he then asked after a slight pause.

"Uh, if you mean relieved that neither one of us is dead, hungry enough to eat five or six sandwiches straight, and ready to fall into a bed and not leave it for at least two or three days even if I won't get a damn bit of sleep after all this, then yeah, sure." I shrugged. "Because that's what _I_ feel right now." 

"So what I heard from that is you wouldn't be averse to dinner?" He didn't even miss a beat and something about that cut through my inhibitions and made me want to stop fighting. "Have you ever had shawarma? There's this shawarma joint I've seen. I don't even know what it is, but I'd like to try it." 

"Shawarma, huh?" I studied him carefully. This could be another really big mistake or it could be a chance I'd regret letting pass me by if I didn't act. But then he smiled brightly at my simple question and I ducked my head, shaking it, unable to resist. I looked back up. "Okay. First, the medic. Then shawarma."

* * *

It's been said that a single day can change a person's life. A day unlike any other comes, and whether it's for better or worse, things are never the same again. 

That's nice. It's a nice sentiment.  

You know, assuming you _want_ your whole world turned upside down and thrown out of balance without even a guarantee it'll be for the better. Maybe some of us are more than okay with steady predictability. Maybe some of us would rather _not_ think about how life can pull the rug out from underneath your feet at any given moment. I was one of those people.  

I looked down at my phone and saw the text from Tony asking me if I'd like to meet him at City Hall and couldn't help but give a small smile. I looked at my watch. Then another text popped up saying there was a cool little restaurant he enjoyed nearby and that I shouldn't freak out… yet. I chuckled, understanding his meaning and shook my head. Then without a second thought I grabbed my things and left my apartment to meet him.  

Yeah, I was one of those people until yesterday. 

**Author's Note:**

> So if this feels unfinished it's because when I read the prompt I envisioned this super long and epic chase across the city, more of Bruce's backstory specifics (although I hope the gist is clear enough that he has his usual demons) with them eventually getting caught like they do on the subway and then them Macgyvering their way out rather than Natasha swooping in, but tbh I realized "oh I actually have to eat, sleep, go to work, etc. and _can't_ write every minute of everyday?" So this is the reader's digest version of that vision. ~~And it's in first person because I hate first person and hate myself obviously~~.


End file.
